


That's Not My Name

by Electra_XT



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, Names, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 18:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19932826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Electra_XT/pseuds/Electra_XT
Summary: "Why don’t you change your name?” Luther says.“I beg your pardon?” Five says, mug midway to his lips.“You said there are still people who know about Number Five,” Luther says, leaning over the table. “What if you’re not Number Five? You don’t look like your old self, you don’t act like your old self, you could just… cut the cord completely.”“Huh,” Five says, downing his last swallow of coffee.





	That's Not My Name

**Author's Note:**

> AU where the apocalypse has been averted and everything's fine. (You know the drill.)
> 
> Title from the eponymous song by The Ting Tings.

“So the world isn’t ending anymore,” Luther says.

They’re having one of their little rituals. Now that Luther’s back on Earth and the apocalypse has been averted, Luther has been really into the whole sibling-bonding deal— flying out to LA to see Allison and her daughter, sparring with Diego, taking Klaus on weird little excursions and going to Vanya’s recitals. With Five, Luther sidled up to him one day and asked him to show him how to make a decent cup of coffee. Luther doesn’t even like coffee. 

Five was touched.

“The world is more or less not ending,” Five says, taking a sip from his mug.

“More or less?” Luther says, a faint crease appearing between his eyebrows. “I feel like the apocalypse should be a sure yes-or-no thing.”

“Oh, the apocalypse is completely off,” Five says. “That’s not something we have to worry about anymore. The end of the world, though, is inevitable, and it’s happening very slowly all the time. So there’s that.”

“Huh,” Luther says.

“But you don’t have to worry about it if you don’t want to, because it probably won’t affect your portion of the timeline,” Five says.

“So you were just messing with me?” Luther says.

“Yes, I was just messing with you,” Five says.

Luther looks disappointed.

“Sorry,” Five says.

“That’s okay,” Luther says. He takes a sip of his coffee and makes a face. “I have another question.”

Five inclines his head.

“What are you going to do with yourself now that the assassin thing is over?” Luther says. “That was your life.”

“Still is,” Five says.

“How?”

“Allison’s daughter still thinks of you as Spaceboy even though you’ve been on Earth for months,” Five says.

“How do you know that?” Luther says.

“I guessed. Because that’s your reputation now, isn’t it? You’re the guy who lived on the moon for four years and that’s who you are.”

“It’s not—”

“It’s who everybody thinks you are,” Five says. “I’m the same way. I was in the business for more than fifty years, Luther, that’s hard to outrun. There are still people who know about Number Five, and if we’re being completely honest, if they hear I’m alive and well, they’ll probably want to kill me. So is the apocalypse still on? No. Am I still in a little bit of danger all the time? Sure.”

He almost feels bad telling Luther all this, because it’s painfully clear that Luther doesn’t get it. It’s not that Luther’s not smart, but he’s too much of a leader and not enough of anything else.

“Why don’t you change your name?” Luther says.

“I beg your pardon?” Five says, mug midway to his lips.

“You said there are still people who know about Number Five,” Luther says, leaning over the table. “What if you’re not Number Five? You don’t look like your old self, you don’t act like your old self, you could just… cut the cord completely.”

“Huh,” Five says, downing his last swallow of coffee. He sets his mug on the table. “You know, Number One, you might be on to something.”

“Don’t call me that,” Luther says.

Five smiles.

“Exactly,” he says.

— 

“Are you having a baby?” Diego says, stopping short at the entrance of the kitchen.

“Holy fuck,” Klaus says, peering over Diego’s shoulder. “Five! Congratulations, man! Did you find a plastic doll in a dumpster or something? I bet Delores—”

“Do not under any circumstances finish that sentence,” Five says, shutting _The Great Big Book of Baby Names_ and reaching for _A Dictionary of Personal Names in the English Language._ “Of course I’m not having a baby.”

“See, you say that, but you’re sitting here with a million of these,” Diego says, walking around to the table and picking up _The Baby Name Wizard._ “You know we gotta ask.”

“Wow, congratulations, is it a boy or a girl?” Klaus says, dragging a chair way up into Five’s personal space and sitting down. Five edges away and lowers his head into his book. “Or are you the kind of parent who doesn’t believe in gender so you’re naming your kid Leaf or something?”

“That’d be you, Klaus,” Diego says.

“Fighting words coming from a man who’d name his son Diego Jr.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, my mistake. Luther Jr?”

“You better—”

“I am trying to read here,” Five interrupts, bringing his head out of his book. “If you would like to pass judgment on my process, you can do that when I’m done. Otherwise I’ll seriously consider incapacitating you until I’m done. Are we clear?”

“It is adorable that you think you can beat me in hand-to-hand combat,” Diego says.

“Yeah, like, observation?” Klaus says. “You’re too short to even _reach_ Diego’s hands.”

Maybe Diego can see the way Five’s revving up to curse them out, because he holds up his hands and inclines his head. “We’ll leave you alone if you want, buddy,” he says. “But if you’re trying to convince us you’re not about to have a kid, it’s, uh, not working.”

“Come on, Diego, hey,” Klaus says, leaning across the table so his dog tags dangle down. “Come on, come on. Maybe Five’s not having a baby—”

“Thank you,” Five says, sitting up.

Klaus spreads his arms out wide. “Maybe he’s having twins! Hence the absolutely wild number of books.”

“No thank you,” Five says. Diego’s pressing his lips together to keep from laughing. “Look, I’m trying to pick a name for myself.”

“Say that again?” Diego says.

“Why?” Klaus says. “You already have a— oh. _Ooh.”_

“Exactly,” Five says. “Luther gave me the idea.”

“Sounds terrible, don’t do it,” Diego says.

“I thought having no name would make me untraceable,” Five says, “but I’ve begun to accrue a bit of a reputation. The Commission’s gone, but there are plenty of people who’d still give anything to take out a man named Number Five.”

“Huh,” Diego says, pulling up a chair and sitting down. “Maybe not terrible.”

“This is the best news I’ve ever heard,” Klaus says, clapping his hands together. “We get to pick a name for you!”

 _“You_ are not picking anything,” Five says. He stands up and stretches out the crick in his neck, because he’s been sitting in one place for too long, and there’s no amount of coffee or alcohol or spite that can keep his brain moving when his body’s this tense and still.

“How’s the search going?” Diego says. He looks down at the piles of books and clicks his tongue. “Wow. Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you, buddy.”

“It’s not easy,” Five says.

“So I’m thinking something old as fuck, because you’re old as fuck,” Klaus says. “Theodorus. Filberticus. Barnabishop. Monastery. Hey, you guys don’t look impressed.”

“Nah, keep going,” Diego says, leaning back and propping his combat boots on the table.

“Octavianus,” Klaus says. “Gunchley. Michelangelo. Hey! If you keep giving me that look, Diego, I’m going to keep all my good ideas to myself.”

“They won’t be missed,” Five says.

“John,” Diego says, bringing his feet down from the table.

“Pardon?” Five says.

“You want a name that’s hard to trace, you gotta hide in plain sight,” Diego says. “Go to City Hall, tell them you’re changing your name to John Smith, and boom, you’re forgotten.”

“If I worked at City Hall and someone requested to change their name to John Smith, I would instantly call the police because that is overwhelmingly dodgy,” Five says.

“Bo-ring!” Klaus says, getting up and yanking open the refrigerator door. “Way to kill the fun of the name search, Diego. Hey, do you think that pickles and Nutella would be a good meal choice?”

Five would rather die than admit it, but for once, he’s almost with Klaus. The volumes of names scattered on the table are a headache and a clusterfuck, but the idea of having a true identity had kindled a kernel of hope in his chest. Perhaps, this once, he doesn’t have to go with the single most utilitarian option.

“Think about it,” Diego says, pointing at him as he walks toward the door. “Problem solved.”

“Sure,” Five lies.

“That asshole left without giving me input on my lunch,” Klaus says, closing the door of the fridge and leaning on it as Diego walks away. “Don’t listen to anything he says.”

“I wasn’t inclined to,” Five says, sitting down in his chair and dragging the _Dictionary_ towards him once again.

— 

He hauls his books to Vanya’s apartment. Apparently the kitchen is a no-go for peace and quiet; his bedroom makes him claustrophobic and vaguely ill at its twee childhood adornments; and every other place in the Academy is too high-ceilinged and stale, orders barked twenty years ago still hanging in the air. And he can’t even look at the library downtown without remembering the smell of ash and decaying bodies. But now that the whole Leonard fiasco is over, Vanya’s place is a guaranteed sanctum. It’s an added bonus that she trusts Five enough to give him a key, even if he’ll never need to physically use it. Five picks it up in his pocket and turns it over in his fingers as he stares absently at the page of roots and meanings.

The sound of the door opening makes him turn around.

“Hey, Five,” Vanya says in the doorway. She toes off her shoes in the entryway and swings her violin down off her back. “What’s up?”

“Do you think I should change my name?” Five says.

“What?”

“I mean how was rehearsal?” Five says.

“It was okay,” Vanya says, coming into the living room. “I’m beginning to see why people hate Paganini. Do you want coffee?”

“No thanks,” Five says, flipping the page. “Had some already. Delores tells me I need to cut down.”

“I’m making myself tea if you want any,” Vanya says, turning towards the kitchen.

Usually this would be the point where Five would let the conversation peter out and burrow himself back in his equations or whatever, but if he looks at another column of names that mean “cunning” in Old French, he’s going to throw himself out the window. Instead he teleports into the kitchen, grabbing the kettle and holding it out as Vanya walks in.

“Luther thinks I should pick a new name,” he says, leaning back against the counter as Vanya takes the kettle from with a little smile and starts filling it at the sink. “I mentioned that there may or may not be other assassins lurking in the timeline who are looking for me, and he suggested I should change what people call me. Nobody from my past— well, your future, my past— or nobody’s future, now— what I’m trying to say is that nobody would know who I am except the people who need to.”

“Isn’t your kid body enough?” Vanya says. “I thought that threw people off pretty well.”

“If all goes well, it won’t stay that way forever,” Five says darkly. “I yearn for the day I don’t look like my bar mitzvah is in five months.”

Vanya sets the burner going under the kettle, and then she joins him at the counter. They lean there in silence for a few moments.

“You’re not jumping on the name thing,” Five says.

“Eh,” Vanya says.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Vanya says. “It doesn’t seem like you.”

“I suppose that’s the point,” Five says.

“How urgent is the threat?” Vanya says. “Are they actively looking for you, or is it more of an ambient sense of dread thing?”

“Ambient sense of dread.” 

“Hmm,” Vanya says.

“I find it interesting that you’re so relaxed at the idea of constant, simmering existential anxiety,” Five says. “Luther inevitably loses his shit when I—”

“I feel like it’d be weird if you had a regular name,” Vanya says, interrupting him.

“Well, Diego says I should change my name to John Smith so I can make myself invisible,” Five says.

“Ew,” Vanya says. “Wait, you talked to Diego about this before me?”

“I didn’t mean to, he and Klaus came into where I was working and started harassing me,” Five says.

“Did Klaus have any suggestions?” Vanya says.

Five gives her a look.

“Got it,” Vanya says.

“So,” Five says, “in the absence of any barely appealing idea, would you like to share some wisdom?”

He keeps his tone light, but Vanya’s his last chance at sensible advice, unless he can get Allison on the line from Hollywood. He watches her think. Vanya’s looking off into the distance with an appraising look, a thoughtful look, and the late afternoon sunlight illuminates her face in a refracted rectangle.

“There’s no one like you,” Vanya says. “Not in this timeline, not in any other. You’re pretty special. You managed to take Dad’s weird, twisted naming system and turn it into a strength, and that’s a hell of a thing to do. Don’t be so quick to give it up.”

“You think so?” Five says.

“I really do,” Vanya says. “Also?”

Five raises his eyebrows.

“If time assassins come to get you, you can totally beat them,” Vanya says. “You don’t need the distraction of a new name to do that.”

Five opens his mouth, and then he closes it. 

“You don’t have to construct some elaborate artifice to protect yourself,” Vanya says. “I mean— we’ve got each other now, right? All of us, for once.” She smiles ruefully. “And if I’m saying that, then you know it’s true.”

“Hmm,” Five says. On the stovetop, the kettle rattles and then makes an unholy wail.

“You know what else?”

“What?” Five says.

Vanya stands up and stretches, tapping Five on the temple. He instinctively tenses up and then relaxes. “I think you think too much, Five. C’mon. Tea’s ready.”


End file.
